by Ruby Dixon
I must get Hemalo out of here before they return with more. I wipe my now-bloody knife off on my tunic and then return it to its sheath before kneeling at Hemalo’s side once more. I examine his face, touching his cheek and tracing over his skin. There is a large, bloody wound in his mane where they struck him with the rock, and a few claw marks on his arms and shoulders where they grabbed at his pack, but he is otherwise unharmed. I am so relieved. I touch his face again, brushing my fingers over his lips. “I have you,” I whisper. “Do not worry.”
I pull my pack apart, looking for my extra leggings. When I find them, I tear them apart at the seams and then use the long strips of leather to bind his head wound tightly. It does not look grievous, but I worry that the healer is not here to fix it. “I cannot lose you, too,” I tell him. “So you do not get to die on me.”
Hemalo makes no answer, not that I expected one.
I check him over for wounds one more time. The scratches are ugly but not deep, and icing over already. I need to get him to a warm fire, shelter, and clean the filth out of the cuts. At least the hunter cave is close. There, I can take care of my mate.
“You are lucky you did not resonate to one of the puny humans,” I tell his unconscious body as I put our packs back together and bundle them into one large burden that I sling over my shoulder. Then I slide an arm under Hemalo’s back and under his legs and lift him into the air, carrying him as I would a child. He is bulky, but not too heavy for me, and I am heartened when his khui begins to sing loudly to mine.
Soon, I tell it.
The winds grow blustery by the time I get to the cave, dark clouds on the horizon. A storm will be rolling in overnight, which means more snow and more bone-chillingly cold weather. The cave is dark and reeks of metlak, which makes me worry. I set Hemalo down in the entrance and then creep inside with my knife to investigate, but all is quiet inside. If the metlaks were here, they are gone now. I return to the fire pit and build a roaring fire quickly, and then check to make sure there is enough fuel to last several days if necessary. I do not want to go chasing down frozen dvisti dung if there is a snowstorm. Luckily, the cave is well stocked, if a mess. It is clear to me that the metlaks came inside and tore through the supplies here. They left the furs and fuel alone, but the stored food has been demolished, the small baskets upturned and the contents spilled everywhere. There is metlak scat in the far corner of the double-cave, and it stinks almost as much as a metlak does. Faugh.
It looks like I will be spending the next several hours cleaning up their mess. I rub a hand under my nose as if that will block the smell, and then move Hemalo close to the fire. I tuck a blanket around him and make him comfortable while I wait for him to awaken. It might be hours. It might be…never. I do not like to think about that, though. He is strong in body and breathing well. There is no reason to panic. I fight the swell of fear down and force myself to remain busy. If he will be out for hours, I can clean and make the cave habitable again.
It is a good plan. I take several deep, calming breaths and place my hand over my heart, where my khui is singing frantically. Not yet, I tell it. As much as I want resonance to happen, I also do not wish to climb atop my unconscious mate and use his body. The thought is revolting. I want him to be present with me. I want him to look into my eyes as we make our kit. With a sigh, I get to my feet and pick up one of the baskets. It has been torn apart, the dried meat inside filthy and uneaten. Such a waste. Metlaks are filthy creatures, though, and I will not chance eating something they have pawed. I toss the entire basket into the fire and watch it burn for a moment before turning back to do more cleaning.
As I clean, I think about the tribe. Stay-see and Pashov were in this cave recently. The human female mentioned that they had stayed in a large cave with two chambers, and that is this cave. She mentioned that the cave had been visited by a metlak, though it did not stay for long. Perhaps it keeps coming back because it knows there is food here. I will have to tell Vektal, and if this cave is being used by metlaks, it is no longer safe to use for hunters. We will be safe as long as there is a fire, but…I move to the front of the cave and push the privacy screen over the entrance, just in case. Not that a metlak would honor it, but I feel better with it there.
I return to the back of the cave and eye the messy piles, contemplating what to tackle next. Then something chirps.
I am utterly still.
The cave is silent. I relax a bit. Did I imagine the sound, then? It is like nothing I have ever heard before, and I mentally run through the list of small, burrowing creatures that might have invaded a sa-khui cave to escape the brutal season.
The chirp happens again.
It is coming from the back of the cave, where the metlaks have made the biggest mess. Curious, I move slowly forward. There’s a large pile of debris made from food remnants, filth, and what looks to be tufts of metlak hair pushed into a pile. Lying atop this mess is a rounded ball of dirty fluff with wiggling arms and big, round eyes. It sees me, and the thin arms move and it chirps again.
A metlak kit.
I am too shocked to make a sound. Is this why the metlaks are at this cave? Because there is a kit? But this kit is far too thin to be healthy. I slowly reach over and pick it up, and it makes a happier-sounding chirp at me. The thing smells, and its fur is matted with filth, but it is young and hungry. “What do I do with you?” I whisper to it.
The kit wriggles in my arms and makes another chirping sound, this one hungrier than the last. Its little beak-like mouth moves, and the big eyes blink at me. They glow a bright blue, just like my Hashala’s did.
I…do not know what to do. I have always been taught that metlaks are pests to be driven away. They will not hesitate to kill a hunter, and our hunters do not hesitate to kill them in return. The adults are filthy, mean, and dangerous.
But this is a kit, not even a full season old. It is filthy like an adult metlak, but it is not mean or dangerous. I pull it close to my tunic, and it burrows against me for warmth, and my heart hurts as it starts rooting about, searching for a teat. It is starving. The kindest thing to do would be to put it out in the snow and let the frost make short work of it.
I…cannot do that.
I tuck it against my shoulder, stroking the matted hair. “Why did your mother leave you? Is it too hard for her to hunt with you at her side?” I think of the two metlaks standing over Hemalo. They were desperate to get his pack. Have those two now realized that sa-khui caves - and sa-khui hunters have supplies? Are they hungry enough to attack a hunter in hopes of food?
I pick my way back toward the fire, frowning at the nearly full basket of dried meat burning there. They did not eat this, and they were starving. Do they only eat roots, then? “Perhaps you’d like a root broth,” I tell the little one as I move toward the fire.
It chirps hungrily at me again, as if it can understand me.
I rub its small back, and a wave of stink rises.
I need lots of water, then. Some for tea for my mate for when he awakens. Some for a broth to feed this tiny, smelly kit. And some for a bath. I also need to finish cleaning the cave and take stock of the supplies, as well as keep the fire going. It seems like an overwhelming amount of things to do for one person.
And yet…I feel invigorated. I feel alive. Happy. This kit needs me. My mate needs me. Perhaps Hemalo is not the only one that has needed a purpose recently.
Smiling, I tuck the kit against my shoulder and get to work.
12
HEMALO
Something smells foul, so foul it rouses me from my sleep and a ringing headache. I am disoriented, but even with my eyes closed, the smells and sounds are familiar. Well, most of the smells. I smell smoke through the stink, and feel the soft down of fur against my skin. I hear the crackling of fire, and Asha’s soft, tuneless humming, the rumble in my chest as my khui sings to hers—all of these are familiar and comforting.
But I open my eyes, because something about this is not right. My eyes slowly focus, and I see a
rock ceiling above me and not a teepee. A cave. I am in a cave. How did I get here? I search my memories, but my last ones are of travel, and slogging through thick snow. Have I forgotten part of my trip? Is this why my head aches so?
My cock aches, too. I realize this even as it occurs to me that my khui is singing, and quite loudly. I look over, and there is Asha by the fire, a bundle cradled in her arms and a lovely smile on her face.
My mate. My sweet, beautiful, fiery mate. I am filled with a fierce joy at the sight of her happiness, but as I study her and the leather-covered bundle she cuddles close, fear shoots through me. Is that…our kit? I touch my brow. Have I fallen victim to the same problem that Pashov did? Have I been struck on the head and forgotten the last few turns? Panic surges through me, and I sit upright quickly. The swift action makes my head pound in response, and I press my hand to the base of my horns, groaning.
“Hemalo,” Asha murmurs in a soft voice. “Are you well?”
“I do not know…I… Asha, have I forgotten our kit? Have I forgotten seasons like Pashov did?”
She blinks at me, surprised, and then down at the bundle in her arms. Her mouth twitches in a smile, and she gives a slow shake of her head. “Do not panic. This little one is not yours.”
I frown. “Then whose?” I am surprised at the vicious stab of jealousy that takes over me. She is my mate. She resonates to no one but me.
Her smile widens, and she pulls the leather away, then holds the kit out for me to see.
It is not a sa-khui kit. It is…fluffy. It is white and downy and looks like a fuzzy ball of fluff with metlak eyes and a tiny metlak beak. It chirps and coos at me even as it clings to one of Asha’s braids.
“It is…a metlak?”
“A much cleaner one,” Asha says, tucking it back into the blankets with affection. “The poor thing was filthy when I found it.”
“What is it doing here?” I glance around me, curious. “For that matter, what are you doing here?”
“I am here because I came after you.” Her smile fades, and she will not look me in the eye. She focuses on the tiny metlak instead, dipping her finger in a bowl and then putting the fingertip into the metlak kit’s mouth. It licks hungrily at her, trying to feed. “And this little one was left here in this cave, probably by the metlaks that attacked you.”
“Metlaks attacked me?”
“You do not remember?”
I rack my brain, trying to recall. All I remember is walking and thinking of my mate. Thinking ravenous, hungry, needy things about my mate. “Perhaps…I was distracted?”
“One hit you on the head from behind. They knocked you out.” She strokes the fluffy face of the creature, gazing down at it before smiling over at me. “Does it hurt?”
It does. I touch my brow and find it covered with tight leather bindings. “I should have been more careful.”
“They are starving and clever, these metlaks. I do not think you could have imagined that they would attack you to steal your pack.”
She is right; that does not sound like typical metlak behavior. I frown to myself and resist the urge to rub my aching forehead as I move toward the fire to sit next to her. “Why did they want my pack?”
“I think they have been living in this cave.” She gestures around her. “It was a filthy mess when I arrived, and I found this little one here. They must have left it behind to go hunting, and I think when they saw you, they assumed you would have more food. The supplies here have been eaten or ruined.” She gets to her feet and hands me the bundle in her arms. “Hold him while I put fresh tea on for you.”
I take the metlak kit from her, trying not to frown down at it. It is clear to me that Asha is attached to the creature. I have never liked metlaks, and like them even less now that I have been told they attacked me. But looking down at the small kit in my arms as it yawns sleepily and waves a small fist, I see why she is doting on it. Though it is ugly and covered in fur, it is a helpless kit. Asha has too soft of a heart to do anything but love it.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she moves to my side and begins to fuss with the bandages on my brow. It puts her teats at level with my eyes, and I can hear the hum of her khui through her skin. She smells like soapberries and sweat and arousal, and my cock stirs in response. I force myself to remain still while she checks my brow.
“The wound has closed,” Asha says, pleased. “Good. It is swollen but should go down in a few days. You will need to get a lot of sleep. I want you feeling better as quickly as possible so we can return to the vee-lage.”
She is talking as if it is already decided, which surprises me. I did not anticipate my reunion with Asha to be so…calm. I expected fire and anger. “You wish to return to the vee-lage with me? You are not mad?”
“Oh, I am furious with you,” Asha says, her tone sweet despite her words. “But I am not going to yell and shake my fist at you today. Not when I thought I had lost you.” She chokes on the words and then swallows hard.
I reach out and caress her tail, dragging my fingers down the smooth length of it.
She jerks out of my grip, her tail flicking angrily. “I did not say I was not mad. Do not think I have forgotten. But I am not going to spew my anger when there is a little one and you have a head injury.” She casts me a heated look and then moves to the fire, grabbing her tea pouch and shaking far too many leaves into the water.
She is agitated, my mate. I hope it is because she worries over me. That is a nice thought. I cannot be mad at her subtle fury, though. This is the most…alive I have seen Asha in so many moons. Let her focus her anger on me. If it brings the spark back to her eyes, I will take it gladly.
The little one in my arms chirps, and I look down at it. It blinks at me, just like a sa-khui infant. Strange. I have never thought of the metlak as people, but I know several humans have convinced their mates that the creatures are intelligent. I do not know if I believe this, but I can see why Asha is fascinated by the kit. “It is much cleaner than its parents,” I tell her absently, thinking of every other metlak I have ever seen. To a one, they are filthy, smelly creatures.
“I gave him a bath,” Asha says, stirring the tea. “He smelled foul when I found him.”
“And it is a boy?”
She nods, and the soft smile curves her mouth again. “I have been calling him Shasak.”
I grunt. It means ‘little spark.’ “And what will you do with Shasak? Release him into the wild?”
“Of course not. He is a kit. He cannot take care of himself. I will keep him and protect him.” When I give her an incredulous look, she shrugs. “If Farli can raise a dvisti, I can surely raise a metlak kit?”
I…have no answer for that. The idea is strange, but the humans have put a lot of strange ideas into our tribe ever since they arrived. “If it makes you happy, then you should keep it,” I tell her. I will support her in this.
Her mouth twitches as she scoops tea into a cup. “I did not ask for permission. You are no longer my mate. You do not live with me. I can do as I please.”
My heart sinks at her smiling words, delivered with the force of a spear-throw. “I see.”
“You do not, but I do not wish to talk about it today.” She moves toward me and sits down with the cup of tea, holding it gently in her hands. “Tomorrow, I will be angry at you. Today, I am grateful you are alive.”
“Tomorrow, we will talk then,” I say, adjusting the kit against my side and taking the cup with my free hand. “Thank you for coming after me. If you had not, I might be dead.”
Her face tightens. “I know.” Her hand goes to my knee and she touches me.
Just once, but it is enough for now.
She does not hate me. She is upset with me, and I sense I have hurt her, but she does not hate me. I can fix this, then. Whatever it is, I can make it better between us. And then I can claim my mate once more.
13
CLAIRE
“Bek,” I say, entering the hunters’ lodge. “What are you doing
?”
He looks up from the spear he is sharpening, a frown on his face. “I am working on my weapons. What does it look like I am doing?”
I’m not fooled by his efforts to look busy. I know I saw him retreat into this house, and his tail is twitching too hard for me to think he’s just sitting here, relaxing and working on his weapons. I call bullshit on that. “Can we talk?”
Bek shrugs and returns to work on his spear, grazing his sharpening stone along the deadly point. “What is there to say?”
Is he kidding? I have a million things to say to him. Things like, “What on earth are you doing?” and, “Why are you giving me presents when we’re not mated?” and, “Don’t you realize I have a resonance mate and will never be with you again?” and, “I thought you hated me,” and a dozen other related questions that all bubble up in my brain. I cross my arms and study him, a bit flummoxed. I know Bek pretty well (being that we were lovers and all once upon a time), and I know that if I push at him and he doesn’t want to answer, he’ll just shut down entirely. I’ve got to steer away from accusing him. Bek has a lot of pride.
I think for a moment longer, and then decide to avoid subtlety. “Warrek’s a terrible messenger, you know. He totally gave you away.”
I half expect him to get annoyed, but Bek only smiles.
Then I realize it. “You sent Warrek deliberately, didn’t you?” The gentle hunter has zero malice in his body, but also zero subterfuge. Warrek would be the last person I would pick to do something sneaky for me. And Bek is too clever to let his plans go off the rails because of a buddy. “You wanted to be found out.”
Scraaaape. Scraaaaaape. He doesn’t look up from sharpening his tools, but his tail grows more agitated.
“Do you not understand the game?” I ask gently, since he’s not offering me much in the way of help. “Your secret gift person is Borran, right?”
Bek lifts his head and gives me a quick, irritated glance. “I know the rules. You have beaten them into everyone’s heads repeatedly.”